Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

enough to keep her awake at night. That and the car, a lease she never should have taken. But it was how things were done. She hadn’t stayed the extra year for a Masters degree for nothing. Her family had some wealth but she refused to run to her father.

Music drifted from the Amazon Echo speaker and she turned it up. It was a song written and performed by Byron Horton’s former band. The song, Rush and Ruin It, was catchy and she’d always liked the verses. To silence noises from the television, she closed the basement door. Kicked off her heels and slid into slippers.

Salad it was. She cooked chicken in a pan and added spices. Brewed tea, adding ice and sugar because Byron liked it sweetened. She set the chicken aside to cool as she cut vegetables with a red ceramic knife and she tossed the greens. Hathaway wasn’t a great cook and she knew it. She was a rule follower, and precisely obeying a recipe should result in a delicious dish but somehow the magic eluded her. Eventually it would happen like it should if she tried hard enough.

The speaker was playing another song by Byron’s band, running through his old albums on Spotify.

Daisy opened the basement door. “Want some dinner?”

“Yeah, up in a sec. Gotta finish this…four minutes left, maybe.”

She moved the food to the laminate two-person dining table and sat. Crossed her legs and kicked her toe a few minutes and decided on a glass of wine.

Daisy hadn’t tried alcohol until turning twenty-one, and not again until twenty-three because it was so awful. These long days, however, often called for it. She poured a glass of Pinot Grigio from a yellow Barefoot bottle. She had tried more expensive brands but liked them less.

Byron bounded up the stairs eight minutes later. He wore socks and khakis and a blue Nike sweatshirt.

“Drinking again? Those students are gonna kill you, huh,” he said.

She smiled, trying for warmth. Fake it till you make it.

Daisy had met Byron at Belmont University in Nashville. He was the Cru worship leader, a boyish guitarist with energy to spare. All the Christian girls fawned over him. All the Christian boys panted after her, so she and Byron choose each other. He proposed their senior year and suggested they wait to set a date until life was settled. With her perfect grades and a teaching license, she received multiple job offers. He took a job as a youth pastor in Roanoke. She followed him. The church didn’t pay well, and neither did the fledgling private Academy. Tired of living apart, and waiting, they bought a house and moved in together. Against her better judgment. Against the scruples and ideals she clung to.

Soon Byron tired of his job and quit, building websites instead. A job that gave him time to chase his dreams of becoming a professional musician.

While he did, Daisy sat up at night worrying about the mortgage, listening to the boy snoring next to her. Waiting for it all to work like she’d been promised.

He kissed her and sat at the dining table.

“This song.” He took a bite of chicken and pointed at the Amazon Echo with his fork. “If I could get a record company to listen to this song, it would land me a deal, I know it. It’s so good, right?”

“Yes, though I like your upbeat songs better.”

“Those are harder to write, Hathaway. Percussion isn’t my strength, you remember that.”

She winced at Hathaway. In college, when he called her Hathaway, she thought it was endearing.

“Were you working on a website?” she said.

“Nah. Playing a few games. I tried earlier and couldn’t get into it. I’ll try again tonight. My client’s in no rush.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. Great, I’ll tell that to our savings account.

“I’m good at Overwatch, Hathaway. I mean, really good. If I’d started earlier I think I could be in a league.”

“That’s a video game?” she said.

“The one where you cooperate with teammates. You probably hear me yelling at them.”

“I can.”

“Sorry about that, I get worked up.” He set his fork down, his chicken gone, the greens and vegetables pushed around.

“Did you work on your music today?”

“No but I listened to some great songs I hadn’t heard before. You know, searching for inspiration.”

“When can I hear your new stuff? I’m excited.”

He fidgeted in the chair. “Soon. Soon. It’s not ready. Gotta get my gears turning. I loved the songs I listened to today. Really soaring melodies.”

“Who was it?”

“I forget. I can check in the history. You said your day was long?”

Hathaway swirled her glass of white wine, watching the waves. Their voices echoed in the kitchen like a marble bouncing around a bucket. She wondered if a rug would help. Or paintings on the wall to dampen the ricochets.

“What would you think if I got my administrative license?” she said.

“I dunno. What’s that mean?”

“It means I could be a school administrator. A principal.”

“You want to do that?”

“Not especially. It pays more.”

“Don’t you like teaching?” he said.

“I do. I really do.”

Byron kinda laughed. “You’re a funny duck, kid. If you’re happy, why would you change things?”

Who said anything about being happy, Byron?

She said, “I suppose. But I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something.”

“Missing? Missing what?”

“You don’t ever feel that way? Like we did this wrong?”

He squinted. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I’m not positive. Like my career, my life, is close to what it’s supposed to be, but not quite there. I’ve got all the pieces…or I think I do… And yet…” She held up her hand, like hoping life would set something in her palm. “It’s not correct, not entirely. I know what my life should look like. I was so certain of it in college. But now I’m here, and… I think I forgot a step. I did something out of order or left a box unchecked. Do you know what I mean?”

“Absolutely. I thought I’d be touring by now. Did you get ice cream?”

“I